Lock and Key
by wintry
Summary: AU. In a city built on bridges, rebellion stirs with the unrest of the people. The king, fearing assassins, locks himself away in the confines of his castle- and Ryoma is recruited to the King's Guard, his last remaining line of defense.
1. Chapter ONE

A/N: WAH, I'm so baaad. I know I shouldn't have started another project. I swore I wouldn't! Not even for Tenipuri, my newest love. But then this happened. GAH. ::whacks head on desk::

Well, I'll have to see how it goes. There's the fact that poor Wintry has school coming up, and another three or four unfinished fics, and she really ought to be studying for the SAT like a nice, responsible girl. But really, though this idea has been used before, no doubt, the plot bunny seized me and gobbled me up. I've got big plans for this fic. Well, not really. But hopefully I'll be able to finish it.

However, something that is actually important:

QUESTION FOR ALL OF YOU: **Should this fic have shounen-ai/yaoi or no?** I'm thinking along the lines of either Oishi/Eiji, or Tezuka/Ryoma, or maybe both. Though if you've got any other pairings to request, go ahead and tell me, and I'll see.

I'll repeat this question at the end of the chapter so y'all don't forget. Enjoy! (Oh, and I don't own anything, nya)

* * *

**Lock and Key**

When he was little, Echizen Ryoma had liked to pretend he had the keys to the kingdom. He'd be able to open the back door to all the sweets shops down by the Main South Bridge and sit in their store rooms for days, gorging himself on all the chocolate and sugared candies he'd want. Or into the box seats of the theatre district, out by Shallow Bridge, a place Mother had told him stories about before bed- she had worked there as a girl.

But there were two locks he had wanted most to open: the door to the gate of the King's School's courtyard, where the squires had their afternoon practices, and the little gold padlock on his father's mahogany chest.

That was at least three or four years ago. Ryoma glanced at the chest beside the mantle, as he always did when he left, then hurried to follow his father outside. He was twelve now and his father's newest apprentice- even if it was ridiculously easy to slack off under the old man's watch, Ryoma was too old to be daydreaming about sweet shops and other impossible things.

In the past few months, Ryoma had been deemed a passable swordsmith, if not as diligent as some would have liked. The journeymen liked to rebuke him frequently for dozing off while working the bilge, or sweeping the floor. The other day he'd been cuffed at least twice for it- Ryoma winced at the memory. Even now, the red mark was still there.

"Hurry up, boy!" his father called from far ahead. The stupid old man waved an arm at him, urging Ryoma to pick up his pace. Not bothering to reply, Ryoma shifted the bundle in his arms and vaulted over the front gate, then continued walking only slightly faster than he had before.

Clearly impatient, Nanjiro huffed, scuffed his boots on the dirt path, and then began walking again without waiting for Ryoma to catch up properly. Not that Ryoma cared. He preferred to set his own pace- probably the reason why he and his father arrived late so frequently, and had to apologize to everyone who was already there. Nanjiro complained that it undermined his authority for those under him to see him repeatedly break his own rules. 'At this rate, they won't respect me anymore!' he'd whine, always in that same childish tone.

Ryoma snorted. His father didn't deserve any respect as it was. He might be a master swordsmith and, previously, an acclaimed swordsman- but the man was also a pervert and a lazy ass. He bought dirty literature from the bad parts of town and liked to spend his midday meal at the nearby tavern, drinking and peeking under the barmaids' skirts. Choshi, the affable bartender and owner of The Golden Bull, had nearly kicked Nanjiro out once for harassing his daughters.

It'd been hard for Ryoma to get any respect for himself, with a father like that. People would pity him, some would hate him, and others would dwell on his father's past glory. And no swordsman, knowing of Echizen Nanjiro's reputation, dared take his only son on as a pupil.

Ryoma's grip tightened around his package. No. He wouldn't dwell on that. He was already apprenticed to learn a swordsmith's trade. Even if he could find a master who would take him, it was too late now.

Still, he allowed himself to dig his fingers through the canvas and clench the sheath until they ached.

Around him, the countryside was fading away- newly sown fields and cottages covered with budding vines gave way to the harbor. As the dirt path became one of cobbled stone and they crossed the Main West Bridge, people became more abundant. 'Coming into the city for the day, just like we always do,' Ryoma thought. There were farmers pushing vegetable carts or driving donkeys with sharpened sticks, and women in patterned dresses carrying baskets of eggs and flowers to sell. They were the regulars, people Ryoma saw on his way to the city every day.

But often foreigners came in as well. Ryoma liked to watch for them. Those who traveled from other kingdoms were easy enough to identify- today, a band of gypsies, their jangling wagon and richly hued clothes making their group evident, traveled with them towards the city. Probably for the Spring Festival, Ryoma remembered. Every year they brought their wares to sell at the week-long celebration. Spices, music, hand-woven rugs, clothing- but also stranger things. Fortunes, charms, mild potions- little magical trinkets that were otherwise impossible to procure in the city.

Of course, these things had never interested Ryoma. Magic was full of uncertainty and dubious reliability. He had no use for it. So when he spotted a gypsy girl going from person to person (and becoming crestfallen at her frequent rejections), he did his best to keep himself from being noticed- eyes forward, package secure, and pace steady.

The girl had long brown braids, each ended in a hopeful marigold ribbon, and an equally eager expression on her face that seemed to blush instantly at the sight of him. Once he saw that blush, Ryoma knew there was no escaping her. He sighed once and resigned himself to it.

As quick as she could, the girl darted towards him, tripping once over the hem of her long skirt and bumping into a disgruntled farmer as a result. She apologized profusely, then continued towards Ryoma until she reached him, and quickly fell in step with him.

"Excuse me, but..." She fumbled, flustered, and anxiously smoothed the front of her dress. Ryoma only stared at her. "Would you like me to read your palm?"

"No." In attempt to escape her, Ryoma tried to pick up his pace. The girl, seeing this, immediately cried out and grabbed at his arm.

"Please! I haven't found anyone willing, but I wouldn't ask for much in return..."

"I don't have anything to give you."

She shook her head so violently that her pigtails whipped from side to side, like snakes. "It doesn't have to be much at all!"

How irritating. Nanjiro might get angry if he was held up too long. "Eh? Try someone else then. I've only got this package that I'm carrying," he insisted, hefting it up a bit in his arms to show her.

The girl's eyes lit up. "If you don't want your palm read, I could carry this for you!" She reached to grab the cloth, but Ryoma jerked it away just before her fingers could touch it.

"My master trusted me to take care of this."

She reached for the bundle again, more insistently this time, and got one handful of cloth. "Please, I beg you! I won't have money for food until I can sell my cakes at the festival!" she pleaded.

Ryoma stopped and stared her in the eye, irritated. He tugged a bit on the package. "Let go."

She met his gaze, a bit cowed by it, but only blushed and answered firmly, "I won't!"

"Go bother someone else, I don't have any money!"

"Please-!"

"Oy." Both of them turned. Nanjiro had turned back to see what his son had gotten into. One look at the girl turned his frown into a simpering smile. His eyes slid up and down her body, the old pervert. "Introduce me to your lady friend, Ryoma."

Ryoma scowled and gave the bundle a final yank to loosen her grip on it. "I don't know her at all."

The girl, apparently mortified, made a hasty curtsy and bowed her head to hide her flushed face. "Sakuno. My name is Ryuzaki Sakuno." Her hands fidgeted with the front of her skirt. Nanjiro, seeing an opportunity, seized one hand and kissed it. Immediately, Sakuno went into another blush. Ryoma was beginning to wonder if that could be healthy for her.

"Sakuno. How charming!"

"N-nice to meet you- sir!"

"Call me Nanjiro, don't be shy, dear, though that blush is quite- Ryoma? Oy, Ryoma-!"

Damn. He'd nearly been able to escape. Ryoma stopped, but decided it'd be better not to turn around. Seeing his father flirting with a girl more than half his age wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now.

"That boy of mine...you little fool, why won't you come help this pretty young girl? What happened to your manners?"

"I learned my manners from you, so they can't possibly be good."

"Tsk! Speaking to your father that way..."

"Um," said Sakuno, very meekly. Nanjiro ignored this and grabbed hold of her shoulders.

"Look at her, Ryoma! The picture of innocence, beauty...all she asks of you is a simple palm reading, and what do you do? Shun her! Push her away in her time of need!"

"Why don't you let her read your palm then?"

Nanjiro shook his head as if the idea was ridiculous. "I'm a man of my own fortune. I've taken charge of my life, and shape my own future as I see fit!" He seemed inspired by the very idea.

Sakuno gazed at him with wide eyes. "That sounds brave of you, sir! My grandmother always says-"

"Don't encourage him," Ryoma muttered. "He'll only get worse."

"When we get back to the smithy-"

"Please, let me do a reading for you! I'm much better than I was at last year's-" Sakuno wheedled, beginning to look a bit desperate.

"- you'll sweep for the rest of the day-"

"Much better! Grandmother-"

Ryoma glared furiously at his father. "You only make me sweep because you don't like doing it yourself!"

"Everyone says so! Oh please, sir, please, or I can carry that for you-"

"That settles it then," Nanjiro proclaimed far too loudly. Ryoma and Sakuno immediately fell silent and stared at him, blinking. With a wide grin, Nanjiro settled his callused hands on his hips and surveyed them both, shifting his gaze back and forth between them. Satisfied, he leaned forward, an expression of concentration on his face-

- and then poked Ryoma decisively on the nose.

"Agh!" cried Ryoma, swatting the hand away. "What was-"

"You," said Nanjiro with a cheeky grin. "Let her read your palm, boy." He then turned to Sakuno who, predictably, blushed. "And you, my little flower-"

"_Blushing pink flower of doom,_" Ryoma grumbled under his breath. Nanjiro glanced at him over his shoulder. With speed that should have been impossible for the stupid old man, he wheeled around and snatched the bundle easily from Ryoma's hands.

"Hey!"

Ignoring Ryoma's protests, Nanjiro turned and presented the bundle to the girl. "Miss Sakuno shall hold the sword!"

Sakuno stared at the package, bewildered. "Hmph," said Ryoma. "What about the payment, then?"

Nanjiro dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "We'll get to that eventually," he concluded. Then, without ceremony, he grabbed Ryoma's hand and wrenched him forward by the arm to stand before Sakuno. Sakuno could only blink (and blush) while Nanjiro brandished Ryoma's hand back and forth in front of her. "First, the fortune!"

"Damn it, are you drunk?" hissed Ryoma. Nanjiro only smiled at him, rocking on the balls of his feet with his arms crossed smugly at his chest.

Tentatively, Sakuno handed the sword into Nanjiro's care with yet another apology before getting to work. Ryoma wanted to roll his eyes- how ridiculous. She wouldn't even look him in the eye as she took his left hand and began examining the lines of his palm.

"Ah, well...you've got calluses." She pointed, and touched his palm very lightly with the tip of her finger. "Here, here- and here. Then...uh, are you...a swordsman, maybe?"

Nanjiro, who had been peering over Ryoma's shoulder, guffawed. "A swordsman! _This little brat_?"

Ryoma snapped to attention, suddenly furious. "That's not funny. I'm going to be a better swordsman than you one day."

"Someday. _Perhaps_. But for now, you can't even execute that lunge properly. It's your footwork, you know."

"I can lunge perfectly well and you know it," Ryoma snapped. Giving his father one last glare, he turned his attention back to the girl. "Keep going."

"Right!" Sakuno gave him a feeble nod and then continued studying his hand.

Ryoma waited. The girl nervously picked her way across his palm, cradling his hand as if she were afraid to break it. "Well?"

"Uh, I..."

"Don't rush her."

"No, it's okay!" Sakuno insisted. She lifted Ryoma's hand. "You see...here...this long line down the center of his palm. It's your life line. And it's long. So, uh...I think you might have a long life." She looked up eagerly, as if waiting for his approval.

Ryoma scowled. "Anyone could have told me that. I learned to read lifelines as a child." To his father, he said, "This girl doesn't really know how to read palms at all. Can we go?"

"We have time. Give her a chance." Although his words were encouraging, Nanjiro's voice contained an undeniable threat. He followed this up with a firm knock to the back of Ryoma's head, before he looked over at Sakuno and gave her a nod of reassurance. "Go ahead."

Sakuno squeaked, a bit alarmed now, and continued hurriedly, "Well, I don't think that you'll get sick too often either...and you'll live in peace...and happiness...and-" Here her entire face turned pink. "-you'll have lots of children and a pretty wife...and succeed in your trade...and " She trailed off, out of breath. Letting go of his hand gently, Sakuno gave him a meek smile that rose and sank at the corners, uncertain. "And that's it."

Ryoma eyed her. "Are you sure?"

Nanjiro, smiling broadly, clapped him on the shoulder hard enough that to hurt before handing the bundle to Sakuno. The gypsy girl immediately used it to hide her face. "What d'you mean, is she sure? That sounds like a fine future to me, Ryoma, if you can make it happen."

"I hope not." Thank God, that was over. No longer captive, Ryoma set off down the road, ignoring the protests that followed him.

Fortunes. Honestly, only fools and bored housewives believed that sort of trash. Ryoma crossed his arms behind his head, sighed deeply, and decided that he needed a long nap today more than anything else.

That is, he did before he heard Sakuno's terrified scream.

* * *

QUESTION FOR ALL OF YOU: **Should this fic have shounen-ai/yaoi or no?** I'm thinking along the lines of either Oishi/Eiji, or Tezuka/Ryoma, or maybe both. Though if you've got any other pairings to request, go ahead and tell me, and I'll see.


	2. Chapter TWO

A/N: Tada! Here's chapter two! I'm not particularly satisfied with the chapter, but...eh. Had to get it out of me, I suppose. From here on is where the interesting stuff starts happening.

A big thank you to all my darling reviewers! I'm happy so many of you responded to my, ahem, little survey. I think I basically know what pairings I'm going to go with, but you'll just have to wait and see, ne? ::evil cackle:: But I can tell you that there will be shounen-ai, possibly yaoi, and maybe, just maybe, a sprinkling of some good old-fashioned boy/girl relationships.

But until then, I give you chapter two. Any suggestions, criticisms, or nitpicks would be greatly appreciated. Bon appetit!

* * *

Chapter TWO:

_That is, he did before he heard Sakuno's terrified scream. _

Ryoma winced and covered his ears as tightly as he could. Honestly, _again_? "Oy, old man. Stop harassing her, she's too young for you," he called darkly over his shoulder.

An uneasy murmur rose up from the people around him that made Ryoma pause- and his father didn't answer. A man in a large straw hat, walking just ahead of Ryoma, tugged his donkey to a stop to see what was the matter.

Ryoma closed his eyes and turned to go after his idiot father with an exasperated sigh. These days it seemed Nanjiro was always making some sort of scene. "What have you gone and done _now_, old man?" There had been that time last week with Farmer Itakagaki's wife...and once before that with the girl who had turned out to be a blind man's daughter- he'd come after them both with his cane.

Half dreading what he might find his father up to, Ryoma opened his eyes.

The stranger was clasping the reins of his horse with one expensively gloved hand, standing very near Sakuno with his other hand resting lightly on the bundle in her arms. His face, shadowed by a hood, was turned to present a smooth Grecian profile and the elegant line of his jaw. The pretty son of some nobleman, perhaps- yet despite his beauty and rich attire, Sakuno seemed to shrink away from him in fear. Ryoma looked at his finery and decided that it was stupid and impractical.

The nobleman returned Ryoma's studied gaze with amused eyes. "Like what you see, boy? I understand. You probably wish that you could dress as well as ore-sama." He flicked his wrist to flaunt the puff of lace there. "I shall suppose you meant _him_ before when you referred to an 'old man.'"

Ryoma's eyes followed the direction of the hand to where his father lay sprawled on the ground, behind the man's horse. Nanjiro stirred slightly and groaned- no, thought Ryoma, he wasn't dead then. Only injured. Well, then, he'd have to wait.

Ryoma narrowed his eyes and returned his attention to the nobleman and Sakuno. All the blood had drained from the girl's face, and her pigtails were trembling, but her hold on the sword was tighter than ever.

The noble, looking down at her, smiled coldly and said, "I'll ask you again, girl. Let me to have a look at that sword you're holding."

Sakuno only hugged it closely to her chest. "I can't...I-I'm supposed to take care of it. For that man and..." She sent a frightened glance towards Ryoma. "And...his son."

"Then there's nothing wrong if I just look at it for awhile, is there?"

"Ah, but..."

"Why not let...oy! What do you think you're doing!"

Ryoma ignored the man as he walked past him wordlessly and took the sword. He ignored them both as they gaped at him like idiots and he ignored 'ore-sama' as the man began to seethe. Then, similarly, Ryoma tucked the bundle under his arm and turned to walk away-

-only to find the shining blade of a long-sword held threateningly against his throat.

Somewhere behind him, Sakuno screamed again, but Ryoma had trained with his father for years now. A sword to the neck was nothing. The old man had been a tyrant more than a teacher, but now, in the face of the enemy, Ryoma kept complete calm and forced himself to stay still.

Yet he couldn't help but smile, just slightly. Finally, a real fight.

"Don't make me harm you, boy. I recognized your father. He was a great swordsman- in his day," the nobleman whispered. He held the sword effortlessly level, never letting it dip or tremble from its place at Ryoma's throat.

He gave a low laugh, sharp and threatening as his blade. "But I am the swordsman of my day. Give me the sword. I just want to see it, boy. Refuse me and you'll be dead within seconds, I guarantee it."

Ryoma didn't give him the sword, and he didn't refuse. Instead, he did neither, and simply elbowed the man in the gut.

The nobleman gasped- the hand holding the blade swung out in a wide arc and, in an instant, Ryoma was out of reach. As the man struggled for breath, Ryoma undid the bindings of the bundle and drew out the sword out of its sheath.

It had once been a beautiful thing, while it was still whole. Windermere. The long-sword had been lighter than most he had handled in the past- however, the blade was now split in two, eight inches or so from the elaborate hilt. Ryoma let the top portion of the sword, still in its sheath and cloth bindings, drop to the ground. Gripping the hilt with two hands, he stood ready.

"So, _brat_," panted the noble. He was leaning slightly on his sword, still catching his breath, but recovering quickly. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but the rage in his eyes made his intentions unmistakable. "You believe yourself good enough to face me? How...charming." He straightened himself, dusted off his shoulders, and swept his hood back from his face dramatically.

Ryoma attacked without hesitation- a flash of surprise crossed the noble's face, briefly, before disappearing into his usual smug expression. Sakuno scampered, squeaking, to the side, as did most other passersby, as the man sidestepped Ryoma's lunge and struck out with his own sword.

He was fast. Ryoma admitted that much as he raised the broken sword to deflect a downward sweep aimed for his shoulder- fast, but not as fast as Nanjiro, though he supposed that was a given. Instinctively, Ryoma fell into the patterns and steps Nanjiro had taught him- the constant repetitions of thrusts, parries, feints and lunges he'd been drilled in over and over until his body remembered them easily.

If the noble was further surprised at Ryoma's skill, he gave no sign of it. As Ryoma aimed a thrust for what appeared to be a vulnerable spot at his lower chest, the man brought his hand down coolly and blocked it with ease.

Ryoma attempted another charge, this time lower. He wasn't entirely sure what he meant to do- kill the man? But the noble wasn't making any effort to attack- he absorbed Ryoma's blows and stood his ground, but made no advances of his own.

A thought struck Ryoma. "Eh?" he asked, smirking. "Are you testing me?"

The man scoffed and blocked another blow. "I have no interest in you, boy." He pushed away a low sweep and forced Ryoma back a few steps with his power. "I'm testing the sword. It _does_ belong to the king."

Ryoma's eyes widened and he nearly forgot to bring up the sword to protect his face. It caused him to stagger under the weight of the attack. "Who says it does?" he replied, teeth clenched at the strain.

The nobleman eyed him coldly. "Your form is impeccable, but your footwork..." he trailed off, leaving no doubt as to what he thought of Ryoma's footwork.

The self-important sneer on the man's face annoyed Ryoma to no end. He'd have to get rid of it. With renewed zeal, he drove back the nobleman's sword and resumed his attack more fiercely, adding more force to his blows.

"My footwork," he growled, "is _fine_."

This only caused the man to chuckle and raise his own pace, keeping up with every attack.

"Stop, please!" cried a high, hysterical voice. So, the girl was still around. He'd thought she would have run away by now. Ryoma glanced at her for only a second, where she stood watching, teary-eyed, from a safe distance. If it hadn't been for her, none of them would've been in this mess in the first place. Ryoma didn't like the direction this day was headed in, not at all.

He shook his bangs out of his eyes and forced himself to focus.

But Ryoma was getting tired and the man was looking bored with his game. Soon, someone was bound to come try to break up the fight. Ryoma had no intention of being the one to forfeit.

The nobleman seemed to realize this, and sighed theatrically. He then executed a few well-chosen steps- Ryoma stumbled, caught off guard, and the nobleman took the opportunity to slice open his hand.

It was over.

Sakuno screamed as the broken sword fell, ringing, from his fingers. What a typical _girl_.

The nobleman ignored all this and gingerly lifted the sword from the stones in the same way most people would pick up a rotting carcass. He ran two fingers along the flat of the blade, examined the break, and tested the grip of the hilt, first with two hands, then one, before he was satisfied.

It was a two-minute process. The man moved quickly and efficiently- he had obviously worked with a sword for years, and knew what he had come looking for. Upon finishing his inspection, he deposited the broken sword on the ground once again before regarding Ryoma.

"You're not quite as lacking as I'd thought, boy. I suppose you'd like my name, now, so you can come after me and avenge yourself once you've improved."

Ryoma was silent on his knees before the man. He tried to move the fingers of his right hand, but the pain...he bit back a hiss at the feeling, and his fingers trembled strangely. He couldn't stop the trembling, and each time he tried to move his hand at all, it stretched the wound.

"Atobe Keigo, first son of the lord of Deer Peak."

Ryoma examined the gash, wiping some of the blood away from the edges with the tip of one finger. He wouldn't be able to do anything with his right hand for weeks. Then again- he thought about this for a moment- that wasn't such a bad thing. Less work.

"Remember that, boy, and be grateful. I was feeling charitable today. I could've taken off that hand of yours completely."

Ryoma glanced up at him and squarely met the man's gaze. He held it, unblinking, and truly hoped the damned man was squirming inside. "It wouldn't matter," he said evenly.

"Really," sneered the nobleman. He raised an eyebrow as he reached back and replaced his cowl with two hands, arranging it around his face. He was careful about it, taking his time to settle the folds perfectly- no doubt to match his eyes, Ryoma thought, disgusted- before he took up the reins of his horse and mounted in one smooth motion. "You must be quite the optimist." He smiled winningly, winked, and tapped a slender white finger against his temple. "Remember- Atobe Keigo. I look forward to seeing you, boy."

With that, he clicked his tongue, nudged his horse into a canter, and pushed his way through the bewildered witnesses gathered around the scene. Soon, he was out of sight.

Ryoma picked himself up slowly. When he finally stood, not quite as steady as he had been before, he held his injured hand cradled close to his chest as he retrieved the sword. In the process, a little blood got onto the hilt- with his good hand, Ryoma used the hem of his tunic to rub it away.

A few feet away, Sakuno knelt over his father. Those who had gathered around began to disperse without asking to assist- well, he hadn't expected them to. No one wanted to get involved with the affairs of nobles. They couldn't afford the risk.

Ryoma brushed dirt off the blade, straightened himself, and made a few passes at the empty air with the sword in his dominant hand.

Next time, he would use his left hand against Atobe Keigo. Underestimating the man a second time would help no one.

* * *

"Tell it again, Ryoma, please-"

"Right, Jun hasn't heard it yet!"

"I don't know, it sounds like a load of dung to me-"

"You don't believe anything, Kanbe-"

Idiots. Ryoma sighed, resigned to the racket of the other boys around him, as he tried to sweep with four sets of feet in his way. All he managed was to push the same pathetic patch of dirt around, again and again, getting ash on the toes of everyone's boots. It wasn't as if they noticed.

Ryoma was the newest apprentice out of the five taught by his father, but by far the least dense. Well, Yataro could be all right sometimes, but he was so timid that he hardly counted. It was hard to believe that Kanbe was his cousin. Kanbe had more backbone, and was something of realist, if a dim one- but he was always talking and liked to make Yataro take the blame for everything.

So Kanbe was also off the list.

Jun and Toki were best friends, best treated as pair, and just about equally naïve. Also, Ryoma noted, very gullible. Sarcasm was lost on those two.

"What d'you mean, 'in a land far, far away?' I thought you said you were just outside the city."

"You? Hold your ground against a noble? I don't believe you."

"You don't believe anything, Kanbe."

"I know, you already said that before! Dimwit."

"Hey, don't call Jun a dimwit! I wish for once you'd just be nice."

"Thanks, Toki. At least you stand up for me."

Ryoma tried to focus on sweeping. It required a great deal more concentration than handling a broom ought to have needed. Hmm. He wondered why.

Kanbe poked him with one chubby fist. "You just made up some excuse for why you're late again." He crossed his arms, looking smug, and leaned up against a stray anvil. "I've never even seen you use a sword." There it was- practically an insult. Everyone looked at Ryoma, waiting for a properly scathing response.

Ryoma said nothing. With great calm, he attempted a few times to sweep the ash around their feet, but then gave up on it. Kanbe and the others stared at him, but Kanbe was the only one frowning.

"Well? What did I tell you?" Kanbe finally spoke up, triumphant. "He's probably never used a sword in his life." In a daring move, he poked Ryoma in the chest. Ryoma ignored him, as he always did. If Kanbe wanted a fight, he'd have to go looking somewhere else.

"He has," said Toki suddenly. He turned from Kanbe to Ryoma. "I've seen you," he insisted. "Why won't you admit it?"

"Me too." The group turned to Yataro- even Ryoma looked up, astonished. Yataro, speaking up against his cousin?

Yataro, tending the coals of the an unused fire, looked around at them owlishly and blushed up to his ears. He avoided Ryoma's eyes as he spoke. "Well, I...I've seen you. A couple of times. Take one off the..." He pointed vaguely towards the rack of finished swords. "Take one and, well, play around with it."

Kanbe sniffed. "Just swinging it randomly, I bet."

Yataro looked up at him, alarmed. "No, no- doing drills and all." He smiled apologetically at Ryoma, a little embarrassed. Ryoma noticed that he had a smear of ash on his chin. "I liked to watch. I'm sorry, but you were so good-"

"What d'you know, Yataro, you never let Uncle teach you the sword. You stick with your pansy little crossbow."

"You're being mean again, there's nothing wrong with a crossbow, even if they are pansy. Sorry, Yataro."

"S'all right."

"Hey, all of you." Everyone jumped. A stern journeyman, older than the apprentices and thus believing himself worthy of giving them orders, waved his hammer threateningly in their direction. "Back to work before I have to get Nanjiro here."

"Bastard," muttered Kanbe under his breath. It was about the wittiest thing he could think of to say, no doubt. Nonetheless, they each went their separate ways (except for Toki and Jun, who went off together) and Ryoma could finally sweep in peace.

He cleared the floor around one of the two forges, the one not in use, before letting himself drift off a little. It was dark in the smithy, and always smoky near the back where they never bothered to clean the windows, but out the back door there was a little dock overlooking a narrow canal, where his father had a rowboat tied- and today was particularly warm for early spring.

On nice days, Ryoma would sneak out to the boat and nap there for the afternoon, or until someone caught him at it. The sun would work its way down between the buildings and warm the alley-canal, and no traffic passed there- sometimes he could hear noise from 10th canal, which it connected to, or from Smithy's Bridge- but mostly it was quiet, and the water calm.

Ryoma looked at his dirty broom bristles, sighed, and tightened his grip on the handle. Maybe he could take his lunch out there today.

He stretched, yawned and, completely out of nowhere, was jumped from behind and swiftly choked in the crook of someone's elbow. The yawn got lodged halfway up his throat and Ryoma gagged, scrabbling at the offending arm.

"Gah, I can't breathe, old man..."

Nanjiro affectionately mussed Ryoma's hair with his knuckles. "Of course you can't, you fool boy. Can't even fight off one measly swordsman, can you?"

"Gaaaahh," gasped Ryoma, and gurgled plaintively. Nanjiro consented to loosen his grip by a few degrees.

Paying no attention to the strangled noises coming from his son, Nanjiro continued, "Even let him get hold of the sword- the one sword!- that will make your poor old father's fortune." Nanjiro paused, his eyes gleaming as he envisioned it all. "I'll be able to stop slaving away in this dark old smithy...relax, maybe travel a bit..."

"You don't want to travel, you want to sleep and laze around the house," accused Ryoma, rubbing his throat. "And it's not like you stopped him either."

"That's different!" his father exclaimed indignantly, before shaking Ryoma a few times, as if to prove his point. "Came up and hit me, he did, no warning whatsoever, the bloody barbarian."

"Ow, stop it- yes, I know, _you told me_. You told everyone, at least twice."

"Tch." Nanjiro pushed Ryoma away- Ryoma took the opportunity to move out of choking-distance and recover- and raised a fist, his hand shaking with rage. "That scoundrel...what did you say his name was?"

Ryoma pushed the broom along the line of the wall to work out any dirt that might have gotten lodged there. Blank-faced, he carefully shrugged. "I dunno. He never told me."

"Hmph." Nanjiro crossed his arms and huffed. "When a man defeats you and cuts open your hand in the process, you don't just let him walk away, boy!" he rebuked. "You get his _name_, so you can hunt him down and kill him when you're strong enough!"

"So I've heard," Ryoma replied dully. He made a few half-hearted swipes at a corner that was being difficult. Suddenly, he remembered- "What happened to that girl?"

"Eh? Oh, you mean that gypsy girl?" Nanjiro chuckled, apparently rather pleased with himself. He abruptly brought his face very near Ryoma's and waggled his eyebrows. "She had a thing for you, boy. Inherited your father's charm, did you?"

Ryoma stared at him, unfazed. "Did you pay her?"

"Of course not. Nearly got us both killed, didn't she? I'll have that knot on my head for weeks." Pouting, Nanjiro rubbed at the lump a few times before jabbing an elbow in the direction of the wall behind a large tool rack. "You missed a spot there."

"Don't you have work to do yourself, old man?"

"Err...now that you mention it, that corner is perfectly fine. Good work, boy. Let's break for lunch."

* * *

Today, Ryoma decided, he would indulge himself for lunch. As he left the smithy, crossing the little path to the narrow lane beside 10th canal, he mapped out his route mentally while he walked.

First, a turn onto 13th canal, with a blacksmith's gate on the corner.

There was a wind on the water today, blowing around the forge smoke that always seemed to linger about the smithy district, but as Ryoma made his way down 13th canal, the air began to clear.

The junction with 14th canal marked the edges of the artisan's district- soon after crossing the bridge over the canal, window displays and flowered stoops began to appear alongside the open-front workshops with their inviting roadside wares, similar but entirely less practical than the shops that had come before them. This area was bustling with color and sound- anything to catch a customer's eye, with splays with tropical flora, extravagant figures blown from colored glass, fine instruments and foreign-made toys. Ryoma eyed a dancing cat puppet as a toymaker danced gaily it across his path, then continued on- the toymaker paid no heed to this, only moved on to the next person to pass his shop.

Next, left onto 16th canal. He crossed another bridge, this one carved over with pink granite angels. The merry music soon faded, as did the busy crowds, as he walked into the plaza before a great, towering cathedral. It was old, the most ancient in the city, and also the largest, if not the most elaborate- its shadow was enough to darken the entire area and cover the space between two canals. The church, its plaza, and a small graveyard stood atop the veritable island, surrounded by the water of four canals.

Ryoma never liked to linger here. The silence was unnerving compared to the merriness of the artisan district, and despite the beauty of the cathedral, there was something sobering about standing in its shadow. He rarely saw anyone sit on the benches in the plaza- mostly just a few hopeful pigeons.

Casting a glance at it as he hurried past, Ryoma left the cathedral behind as he crossed over a simple wood-planked bridge. Directly across from the bridge was his destination- a line of three row houses overlooking 18th canal.

Ryoma knocked at the door to the one at the far end, the place he called home during the week. It was his cousin's house, technically, but with work in the city, it was too much trouble to make the trek back to his father's home in the country everyday. And Nanako, a scholar in the making, was lonely in a house by herself with only Ryoma's cat to keep her company. So Nanjiro and his son got a place to sleep and home-cooked meals during the week, while Nanako had family in the house to keep her occupied with something other than her texts and rotting scrolls.

The sound of flurried steps on the stairs came clearly through the door. After a few moments, the door flew open and Nanako, breathless, appeared in the doorway- wielding a fish in one hand and a more than slightly frustrated expression.

Ryoma blinked twice in slow succession and walked past her. "I'm here for lunch." Following his usual routine, he then proceeded to remove his boots.

Behind him, Nanako huffed before marching up to him. She stood fuming, long hair mussed in her anger, as he slid first one foot out and then the other, before setting the pair neatly beside the door. She gave him A Glare as he left his shoes and headed directly for the kitchen to sniff out something for lunch.

But it was the moment that he reached for the cupboard door that she chose to strike. The moment Ryoma touched the familiar worn doorknob, he found the fish flailing hardly an inch from his face, smelling strongly...fishy.

"Karupin," said Nanako in a soft, furious voice, "Your cat."

"Yes."

"Got into my groceries the moment I brought them back from the market."

"Eh? Oh, the fish, I guess. Bread still all right?" Ryoma pushed the fish as far as he could from his face and opened the cupboard. He poked around a bit- the bread had been spared, a slab of yellow cheese, a bunch of withered carrots no one bothered to touch. Some more searching produced some smoked meat. Gathering the meat, bread, and cheese together, Ryoma drew his lunch cloth from its customary hook by the window and used it to wrap his meal together.

Lunch finally provided for, Ryoma turned to his cousin who, throughout his routine, had become increasingly angry- unusual for her. She had both hands planted firmly on her hips, even the one holding the fish. Was it that important of a fish, Ryoma wondered. It didn't smell like it.

"Does Karupin bother you that much?"

Nanako's expression softened at his words. She set the fish down on the table and heaved a sigh as she sat down with her head in her hands. "No, not really. He keeps me company while I read." She gave him a small smile. "And he's such a sweet little cat, most of the time. No, he's no trouble." With the tip of her finger, she gave the ruined fish a few wary pokes. "I suppose I might as well give this to him anyway. Sorry for being cross at you before."

Ryoma deftly knotted the cloth at the top. "Cross?"

"A little cross, I guess. It's been a strange morning. You and your father and that awful man out on the road." Her eyes flickered to Ryoma's hand; she was obviously itching to change the bandages for him. She hadn't approved that Nanjiro and his son had gone to work not even a day after both of them had been injured. "And a stranger asking for your father."

Ryoma's head snapped up, suddenly attentive. Nanako didn't seem to notice this. She had shifted her gaze to the window, and appeared distantly anxious.

"Who?"

Nanako shrugged. "A man, or possibly an older boy. He didn't tell me his name."

"What did he look like?" asked Ryoma sharply.

She gave him a puzzled look. "He was tall. A little shorter than your father, I think. But I couldn't see his face- the sun was shining through the doorway and he wore a hood," she replied, growing uneasy. "Why?"

Ryoma's gaze turned immediately to the window. The sun was higher now, casting immense shadows from the towers of the cathedral across the canal. But the plaza was empty. "Never mind," he said, dismissing the matter. Nanako, if unconvinced, said nothing. He picked his lunch off the table with two hands, said the obligatory goodbye, and left.

Heading back for the smithy, the cloaked stranger weighed heavily on Ryoma's mind. He didn't notice the bright temptations of the artisan's district on his return, nor did he pause for anyone. He remembered his cousin's description- a tall boy or man, cloaked, taciturn about his intentions. Looking for Nanjiro.

As Ryoma moved along the canal, an image of Atobe Keigo, first son of the lord of Deer Peak, began to form in his mind.

14th canal passed. The crowds thinned, and he could finally walk without the needless worry of jostling someone or stepping on their heels. Atobe Keigo. What more did could the man want- another look at the king's sword? It wasn't as if the king did much these days, or so his father complained. It was all the elder journeymen ever discussed, thinking it made them sound intellectual.

He might've been a war hero once, they said, but those days were long over. The king hasn't lifted a sword since his last one had broken, like a child that discarded his old toys.

But now Echizen Nanjiro, the most renowned swordsmith in the kingdom, had been commissioned to remake the sword, Windermere- not repair it, but forge it anew. When his father had accepted the project, Ryoma remembered that he hadn't dared to leave the sword in the smithy by night, but took it back and forth with him. It had been made clear that Windermere was worth more than his father's life.

Nanjiro hadn't let this affect him, but now...the consequences were becoming clearer now. Ryoma had believed he had seen the last of Atobe Keigo, back on the road to the city. He had no intention of 'hunting him down.'

But it now seemed that Atobe was becoming the hunter.

He was nearing the smithy. Ryoma looked down at the dark waters of the canal. A boatman, navigating a low flatboat, passed with his load of fresh-caught fish. Headed for the markets, no doubt. The fishy stench was overpowering.

Hurrying to cover his nose, Ryoma thought of his cousin's words- he could see the smithy, the plumes of smoke from the three chimneys-

_He was tall._

He sighted the man and froze, blood turning to ice. A figure, there, by the path-

_A little shorter than your father, I think._

Waiting, but why waiting? Ryoma's mind darted, he searched himself but found nothing he could use for defense-

_But I couldn't see his face- the sun was shining through the doorway and he wore a hood._

Hood still up, just like before...the wound on Ryoma's hand itched, the scab forming beneath his bandage- his hand twitched and he wanted to scratch it, but there was no time-

No time at all.

He could only walk up to the hooded man. There was no choice. He was blocking the path to the smithy.

Ryoma approached, stiff-legged. The hair on the back of his neck bristled. Nearer and nearer he came, as if nothing was wrong.

When he was near enough, Ryoma looked at the shadows within the hood. He remembered what his father had taught him about customers, and did what was called for.

He bowed to the man.

He watched as the man slowly lifted his head. Within the hood, light played on the rim of a pair of spectacles.

"Echizen Ryoma," said the man, and nodded.


End file.
